Sweet Lucidity
by KAZ2Y567i
Summary: Tag to Heart. Having to kill someone you love, or having it asked of you can reveal some secrets best not hidden.


**A/N** Hello again….waves excitedly….My snarky bunnies have their sharp little claws on my arm and have forced me ( with a lethal looking pointed carrot and a rather weighty bag of peanut M&M's) to put fingers to keyboard and type. Even after I took them on a holiday to Surfers Paradise ( just don't ask me about the weather). Well, they decided to hop it (pun intended) and stayed at Nimbin/Byron Bay for the week. Can't say what they got up to and I really don't want to know. To date there have been no men in blue knocking at my door.

Thanks to you all that have reviewed or have put me in their alerts for my previous fic Nothing Else Matters. I really appreciate your kind and gentle words of encouragement and support.

Big hugs to my beta xoleanderx. Ever patient with my 'what if's' and 'maybe I should've written this', and for correcting my errors.

An even bigger thank you goes to Onari for giving me permission to use 'parts' of her story-Remember This- to complete mine. Her story is one of the most emotive and poignant fics that I have read for some time. I cannot praise it highly enough and I urge you all to read it as it inspired me to write this.

So, enough of my nervous ramblings……………..

**Sweet Lucidity**

**By KAZ2Y567I**

…_"Just wait here."…_

So he waited.

It wasn't often that he did what he was asked, but this time he knew it was important. Not for him, but for the person from whom it was asked.

His tear had long since fallen, the line of its warm passing still evident upon his pale cheek. Cooling, then leaving a silver trail of sorrow for an event that he had no control over. He desperately wanted it to be him. Needed to grasp the moment with both hands - the event, the action, the aftermath. He wanted to take the burden, the responsibility, the guilt. For he knew about those massive loads, knew them like they were family. They already sat on his shoulders. Silent. Immovable. Immutable. Ever increasing over time with his every action and inaction. Like Atlas; bent double.

There was a hush about the room. A pregnant pause, as if in waiting. A fraction in time slowing down before coming to a complete stop. As if time was about to stand still.

He could hear the distant rumblings of traffic - the bleating of a car horn, the incessant tone of an alarm and the steady metronomic ticking of a kitchen clock.

All this was background noise. A symphony of life that played on, regardless of any input from him. Sounds that came and went. But there was only one sound that he was waiting for now.

The sound of an ending. Of a life ending.

For a brief moment in their turbulent lives, one of them had found peace. Two lives had become one. Each finding solace in the other, two halves combined to become a whole. Two lives that were brought together by love would soon be torn apart and broken by a sound.

He was waiting for that sound. And even though he had prepared himself for it, he still flinched as it echoed throughout the room. Fading, then dissipating away to be lost amongst others. A sharp loud emphasis, then just as quickly gone.

It was the sound of death. He had heard it to many times to not mistake it for anything else. Once heard, never forgotten. Once inflicted never denied.

His heart threatened to beat itself out of his chest with his inactivity. Wanting to move forward of its own accord. Its meat suit keeping it stationery and imprisoned.

…"_Just wait here."…_

His booted feet scratched every so slightly on the carpeted floor, eager for forward motion, bored with the silent statue posture.

…"_Just wait here."…_

The adrenalin rushed into his body, his breathing increased as his hands became cold and clammy.

It was time for him to move.

Silently he walked the short distance to the room where Sam had gone into.

So heightened were his senses; in tune with his environment, that he could smell the unmistakeable scent of gunpowder lingering in the air. Delicately wafting in the ether, then mingling with another scent that assaulted his nostrils. It was the distinctive smell of blood and its imminent companion - death.

With trepidation he took a step into the room. He could see something on the floor. A small human shape with a large dark pool emanating from it. His hands shaking he reached for the throw rug that was casually draped over the rear of the lounge and placed it over the still figure, kneeling as he did so. He did not want to look, did not want to touch. But his eyes and hands had their own agenda. Looking across he saw that her eyes were closed, a tear glistened at the edge as if hesitating, waiting. Then falling slowly, trying to resist the force of gravity. Sliding gently down her high cheekbones to dash itself with a silent thump on the carpeted floor. Her mouth was even now smiling in its repose; at peace. Her full lips still red. His hands inadvertently touched her exposed arm. He could still feel the warmth in it, the softness, and for a fleeting moment realised that his brother would have touched this arm. Probably held it, kissed it with a love, a passion for a girl that they had only met a few days ago. This girl who had awakened Sam's heart to the possibility that love can still be found in the most unlikely of places.

In the heart of a werewolf.

Gently Dean draped the rug over Madison's prone body. His eyes still lingering on her silent form, his thoughts on the girl that his brother wanted so adamantly to save. Had so loved.

…"_Dean please, we can save this girl."…_

They had tried, tried so hard to find a way to cure her. Calling in favours that were owed to them. Investigating any hint, any clue however miniscule that may find them a solution. And for a time there they thought that she was saved. Dean could see that Sam had fallen for her. Fallen for her hard. He couldn't blame him - he liked her. Liked her a lot. Even more so that she made Sam happy. And that was enough for him. It was easy to accept her with the love and happiness that she brought to Sam's eyes, and now both of them had to deal with her death.

Life really was a hard taskmaster, a real bitch.

Dean hung his head with the realisation that he had failed to save another innocent life. Another burden for him to carry upon his already burgeoning load.

Swallowing down the bitter bile of defeat, he slowly rose. He wanted to run, to flee from this place. To grab Sam and just run and keeping on running. To quickly pack the Impala and have her eat up the asphalt as they high tailed it out of town, her exhaust issuing as a long one-finger salute along the roadway. Their gesture of defiance as the city limits sign receded rapidly in the rear view mirror.

But there was one thing missing.

Where was he?

Where was Sam?

Scanning the room his eyes spotted a long pair of legs protruding from a darkened corner. He could just make out a faint outline of a figure hidden within its depths.

"Sammy?" He questioned, his voice laden with sympathy and concern.

No movement from the depth of the shadows. No indication that he had been heard, or even noticed.

Concerned now, Dean stepped closer. Upon hearing a distinctive metallic click he stopped dead in his tracks. Waiting, watching mesmerised as light slicked along a silver surface, a shadowed arm bringing the cold steel up high. High enough to meet a head.

_Stay calm, stay calm,_ he silently told himself. _No fast moves, nice and easy, _his mind reasoned._ Just take it nice and slow, easy, easy._ His inner monologue acted like a cooling balm over a burn. _No sudden moves now. Don't do anything reckless, Winchester._

_Fuck that for a joke! _his heart said and pumped blood faster through his body. Making it surge forward, rebelling against the logic of his brain, making him move closer.

"D.d ..don't," a slurred, stuttered voice said from the corner, halting Dean in his forward momentum.

"Okay, okay," Dean exhaled not realising until then that he was holding his breath. With his hands out by his sides he motioned towards an open spot near Sam. "I'm just going to sit down. Okay?"

Not expecting permission, and really not needing it, Dean quickly calculated the distance between himself and Sam. Anticipating that if he could just get that little bit closer, lessen the space between them he could make a grab for the gun. He took a few more steps closer, trying to cover his movements in making out that he was regaining his balance, ambling just short of an arm's length from Sam.

"That's… that's close enough!" Sam yelled.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly sitting down, his eyes ever watchful on Sam. He so wanted to lunge forward and grab for the gun, throw it beyond arms reach to safety, then lean across and physically throttle the shit out of Sam for scaring him like this. But with the gun so close to Sam's head he thought it best to sit still and do what he was told… for the moment.

He waited for Sam to say something, to do something. Patience was not Dean's virtue at the best of times, even less so now. But Sam was in control of the situation. Dean had no recourse but to sit and wait. Wait, while his brother held a loaded gun to his head and Dean to ransom.

"Sam…" Dean began, his voice soft, even and mellow. Trying to get Sam's attention, some sort of a response that his brother was with him on this side of sanity.

"Put the gun down," he continued to cajole, bringing his voice down an octave as if speaking to a frightened child, a wounded animal.

In the dim light he noticed the gun wavering slightly, its silver hide glinting and reflecting in response to the movement of the unsteady hand that was now holding it.

"Please Sammy, put the gun down," Dean pleaded. His eyes intent on the gun, his body poised for action, his voice an even candour belying the urge with which he was fighting himself to not make any sudden moves.

"D… Dean?" Sam's quiet voice was like a cannon shot in the stillness of the room. It broke Dean's concentration, his head jerking across to look for Sam's face.

"Yeah, it's me Sammy." His voice soft and as smooth as black velvet. "I'm here"

"I… I shot her," Sam stuttered.

Dean's mouth went dry. He swallowed, trying to get some moisture. His tongue adhered itself to the inside of his mouth, not wanting to move. For in moving, it would mean that he had something to say. And what could he possibly say to make this right?

"I…I understand now." The whispered voice of Sam floated to him in the semi-darkness.

Dean remained still, his inaction hopefully encouraging Sam to talk more. He wasn't sure where this was going. And for once he was totally out of his depth in trying to work out the quickly changing thought processes of his younger brother. First Sam's demeanour was one of hysteria; the bellowing voice, the shaking hand holding a loaded gun to his head and now it was bordering on empathy. In a split second the gun was at Sam's temple and now little by little, in tiny increments he could see the gun slowly lowering. And then the other sound that he was waiting for - the safety clicking on.

Relief. Profound relief that the item that had so easily ended one life and could just as easily have ended another; was now silenced and dormant. Dean could have cried, could have willingly succumbed to the release that his body craved and cried for the mere fact that he could now reason with a sentient brother.

"I know how you felt Dean," Sam said ominously, placing the gun next to his leg.

Dean was mute, his eyes only on the gun as it came to rest next to Sam's leg. His brain was too busy focusing on that action to make idle chatter, to form the words that would help to calm a skittish brother. Even now he was hard up trying to quickly process what Sam might be alluding to. How he felt? How Dean felt? Felt about what? His thoughts a jumble in his brain, vying for control over each other in trying to find an answer.

"When I made you promise," Sam answered for him as if reading his thoughts.

The penny dropped just as quickly as the bottom fell out of Dean's world. A double-edged sword slid through his consciousness, as cold and as sharp as an ice-cream headache, an icy shudder of déjà vu slicing Dean with the memory. An empty bottomless feeling devoid of warmth that sucked the breath from his lungs and froze his words in the air, shattering them; voiceless in the darkness.

Harshly throwing him back to that haunted hotel, their darkened room and a morose, drunk brother that blamed himself for an innocents death that he really had no hope in hell of saving, had no control over. That he couldn't have saved no matter how hard he tried to rationalize it that he could.

"…and if I ever turn into something that I'm not…you have to kill me."

"_Dean, dad told you to, you have to."_

"_You have to promise me."_

Sam's pleading - his begging that his big brother could do something to make it all go away. To make this all right. To make _him_ right.

And then the two words that would haunt Dean for ever after. Two words that were forced from him, ripped from behind clenched teeth, no matter how hard he resisted the urge to speak them, to not make them real by their utterance. He could never really deny his brother anything. Two simple words that meant the world to Sam but a living death for him.

_"I promise."_

Sam leant forward, his pallid face emerging from its envelope of darkness, visibly showing his depressed state. Tears that were shed earlier had left their saltwater remains as evidence of their passing. There were more still visible in his red-rimmed eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. His flushed cheeks highlighting scratches that Madison had inflicted earlier, cleansed now with his tears.

"I... I never realised what I asked of you then… until the same was asked of me," he whispered, trying to hold back his tears of remorse and memory. "I can see now why you hesitated, why..."

Dean heard Sam pause and swallow loudly in the stillness.

"Why you so wanted to say no, why... why ... you tried to back away," his voice croaky and scratchy from crying, still full of unshed tears. His hand shook as it came up to wipe at his eyes. "I… I can understand now why you did it," he continued, his voice barely audible in the room. "Why you promised," he finished on a sob. "And… and why she wanted me to kill her, why I ha… had t…to," he blurted out. The force of his admission releasing more tears, his head dropping, his shoulders shaking with their release.

_Hush now, don't you cry,  
Wipe away the teardrop from your eye_

Dean just sat there, a silent, unmoving witness to Sam's grief, his own tears threatening to fall. Tears not for Madison, not for himself but for the forlorn figure crying in the dark in front of him. For Sam. For his little brother. For the loss of innocence.

"I...I would've…" Dean admitted quietly, his hand reaching up to touch the side of Sam's bowed head. "I would've done this for you." He felt Sam trembling beneath his touch as his fingers wound their way through his long hair. "But this is not about what I would've done or what we wanted for her. It's what she wanted. She trusted you to do the right thing." He paused, waiting. Waiting for the consonants and vowels to form the words that would ease a broken heart. "She knew that you were the better person and that you would still love her and be proud of her for making this decision. She asked you to sacrifice your love for her with the hope of saving innocent lives." Dean paused, rallying his thoughts. "Even knowing that it would tear you apart."

Quietly, Dean slid closer, reducing the space between them to mere inches. Leaning across, he grabbed the gun and deftly slid it in the back of his jeans.

Both their heads were bowed, close enough that he could feel Sam's breath on his cheek. "This is what Madison gave her life for. For others. For their tomorrows to be innocent and free of hidden dangers," he whispered conspiratorially. "For us, well," he sighed heavily "For what we've sacrificed, that's all that we can cling to. The prospect that their lives will be happy and that what we do in secret will never be known to them."

Sam's reply was a choked sob. He nodded his head. Silently agreeing with what Dean was saying. .

"I..I. know Dean. I know that you… you would've done..." His voice shattering itself on the stuttered words, shards getting caught in his throat. "It's…it's just….so hard. I really wanted to save her Dean, really save her."

Dean bent his head closer, trying to catch Sam's eye, gently kneading the back of Sam's neck in the process.

"You did what she asked of you," he gently whispered. Tiny wisps of his breath fluttering Sam's hair near his ear. "You did save her. You saved her in the only way you could… by setting her free. By giving her hope that by her selfless action she would be able to save lives."

_Hush now, don't you cry,  
Wipe away the teardrop from your eye_

Dean drew in a shaky breath. He didn't want to say any more. What he said and explained to Sam should be enough. More words would be dangerous - could lead to confessions that he didn't want revealed. But his resolve was faltering, his mask cracking. Minute cracks that were growing and expanding. Fissures formed, their momentum unchecked.

_The walls you built within  
Come tumbling down, and a new world will begin…_

"And…and…" he forcibly tried to stop himself. But once again his heart had overridden his brain and exploded his mask from the inside, shattering it completely, its remnants slowly dissolving in the wake of his tears.

"And…and she asked you to save her," he continued, his words hitching, heavy with tears, "…for the same reason that I promised."

They were to close now to hide anything from each other. Masks all dissolved and ineffectual; no longer protectors of their emotional vulnerability.

"It's about love, Sam," Dean's soul admitted.

Sam's breath caught. His arm came up, hand groping, long fingers searching for human contact and finding purchase in the solid presence of his brother. Grabbing a fistful of shirt and feeling the warmth of his brother through its folds, he pulled him closer. He didn't need for Dean to say it; he had known it all along. Known it in the gentle prod on a shoulder, a slap upside the head, a passing glance. Even though it was never mentioned, he had always known it where it mattered the most - in his heart.

He felt a slight pressure, then encompassing warmth as Dean's arm snaked around his shoulders and pulled him close.

Silently they sat together, huddled in the darkness. Companions in their grief and realisation.

One accepting that his brother would do anything for him, no matter what the cost to himself and all for a four letter word that held his world together; the other beyond caring, his walls had been breeched, the barricades crumbling and dissolving in rivulets of salt.

_I- will be watching over you  
I- am gonna help to see it through  
I- will protect you in the night  
I- am smiling next to you, silent lucidity_


End file.
